


At The End Of The Story

by ShadowyStar



Category: Coldfire Trilogy - C. S. Friedman
Genre: Alternate Ending, Damien Vryce Is Not A Happy Bunny, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Exactly What It Says on the Tin, Love Confessions, M/M, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, another talk on a certain observation deck, in gerald's unique way, it's Gerald after all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:47:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23415532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowyStar/pseuds/ShadowyStar
Summary: I just don’t think that all’s been told.Originally posted on ff . net Nov 21, 2008
Relationships: Gerald Tarrant/Damien Vryce
Comments: 2
Kudos: 41





	At The End Of The Story

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own the Coldfire trilogy. It belongs to C.S. Friedman. I do own this story. Characters, places, locations and organizations not appearing or being mentioned in the books are also mine. Do not archive or translate or otherwise use without permission.

* * *

Damien looked down at the burning Forest.

The flames consuming the Hunter’s domain were dark – a deep, bitter red of drying blood as if even the fire itself was somehow tainted. Of course, the pure and purifying element of fire, fueled with wishes of men and blessings of the Church both, was about to win.

Damien sighed quietly. It always had been easier to destroy than to create. For all it seemed, humanity hasn’t learned much from the past. They never did. Still fearing what they did not understand and still destroying what they feared. That was always like this, he knew. Past repeating itself. Same old story.

Bitterness overcame him. Had _this_ really been necessary? But, of course, they didn’t understand what kind of genius had been needed to create a complete and _functioning_ ecosystem. Carnivorous and dangerous, yes, but also delicate and complex. They didn’t see what it really had been standing for – a triumph of will over the fae, something humanity on Erna had never accomplished before or since. Of course, again, they were far too short-sighted for that. They always thought in terms of black and white. Maybe it was easier to do so. Maybe one didn’t need to truly _think_ when one’s world was painted in extremes. When everything could be neatly categorized, accurately put into this drawer or that box. Light or dark, good or evil, human or not. Damien knew better, of course, and had, right from the start. It'd taken some time to act upon that knowledge, though. In hindsight, it'd been his clerical education that had enabled him to reach out to the Hunter, back then when the other man still _had been_ the Hunter. But compassion is a double-edged blade after all, and his own soul had gained a few shadows on the way, and some light, and experience.

He sighed again. Yes, even the darkest of souls might still hold a spark within. As Gerald’s had done, even then. He’d found himself drawn to that fragile little light even more than to the man’s overwhelming darkness, seductive as it was in its own way. He remembered countless occasions he’d wanted to make the tiny flame grow until maybe it would be strong enough to chase away the dark…

A plume of fat, black smoke rose from a nearby area of the Forest, and Damien firmly told himself it was the stench of those old carnivorous trees turning to ash that had made his eyes water. He blinked furiously until the wetness went away, dried up by the heat. Ah, who was he fooling? The loss was still a fresh wound, a cut across his very heart that hadn't even stopped bleeding. He wondered it if ever would.

Speaking of short-sighted, Damien thought, cutting off that train of thought before more tears could fall, would someone think of Gerald’s books? And all the knowledge, now lost to said humanity forever? Most probably, no. The Church would surely have ordered those ‘evil’ books burned, fearing the knowledge they held. Fearing the _history_ they held. How ironic that the Prophet’s most powerful creation turned out almost diametrally opposite to his intentions. He asked himself if Gerald had ever foreseen that. But then again, Gerald had been damned to Hell by this very Church. Perhaps he'd known.

Books… He recalled an essay by some ancient Terran philosopher who stated that one’s life was just a story someone else was telling. _In that case_ , he thought, _my life is a very boring story indeed_. A common fate, nothing exceptional, nothing worth reading. Nothing worth remembering. Why should he keep on continuing? He’d lost his calling, his integrity, his place in the world. What, he asked himself, did this existence hold for him? All it would take was a step and a leap over the railing. A few moments of falling and then… Peace. Oblivion. And yet…

Here he was, standing on the observation deck again, contemplating yesterday’s revelations. But was this his only reason to come to that place again? Or was he waiting for something? Or rather, _someone_?

_Don’t be stupid,_ he told himself firmly. There was no reason whatsoever for the youth to be here again – even if what he’d said had been the truth. _Especially_ if what he'd said was the truth. A truth so unbelievable and yet … so _possible_ at the same time if you knew the man in question.

The dance of fire and shadows before his eyes held a beauty of its own and somehow seemed to mirror his own heart that, too, was full of dying fire and growing shadows. He knew he should be leaving long ago but … what for? It wasn’t like he had a place to return to. And so he stayed, the weight of loneliness on his heart growing heavier with each passing day.

He heard soft footsteps behind but didn’t bother turning around. Somehow, there was nothing left for him to say to the world. Somehow he liked it.

“Is the view that fascinating for you to come again?” a cool, cultured voice asked.

Damien stilled for a moment, with anticipation perhaps and hope, then sighed quietly, closing his eyes for a second or two. When he turned around, he did so slowly, knowing full well already which face he would see. Taking his time.

“I could ask you the same,” he said, carefully hiding his bitterness, hiding his hope even deeper.

“You could,” the other man agreed softly, black eyes crystal clear. “Would you?”

“Why should I? That’s not like I were going to get an answer.” Now, only bitterness remained, cold and gray like ashes, forcing his shoulders up into a shrug. _Right. Stop hoping, Damien._

“You’re presuming much not knowing me.” Such unfamiliar a voice, so very familiar the cadences.

“Ah… but sometimes presuming is all we have, isn’t it?”

At that, the black-haired young man laughed mirthlessly. “I should’ve known better than to discuss semantics with a priest.”

Damien smiled sadly at that. “Well, ten years of church education tend to do that to you. And I’m no longer a priest.” Somehow it felt necessary, _important,_ to confirm that, yes, he no longer belonged to the Church.

Silence spread its wings between them, a silence tense and comfortable at once, familiar and warm. Damien knew it from long experience and had long ago come to appreciate its presence and the layers of meaning that had always laced it, almost right from the start. It was welcome now, a bittersweet reminder of all those ‘had beens’ and ‘might have beens’, filled with all the questions he’d never ask and answers he’d never get. That, again, was familiar. He looked down at the Forest. Searching there for his answers. Or for his questions. But black leaves turning to ashes and dust held no solutions and no secrets, and he thought that maybe it was time for him to move on.

“They say one’s life is nothing but a mere story someone else’s telling,” he said finally when he felt ready to continue.

“Do you believe that?” the younger man asked with genuine curiosity.

Damien sighed. “I don’t know what to believe anymore. What to have faith in. I don’t even know if I’m still _able_ to have faith.”

The other stood very still, not looking at him. The expression upon the beautiful face was one of … guilt?

“I’m sorry.” The voice was kept carefully distant.

“Nothing of this is your fault.” Damien said, and all his strength and willpower were not enough to keep the bitterness from his voice. His defenses were crumbling, failing completely. For once, he did nothing to hide it. “Why would a stranger like you feel sorry?”

The other’s eyes were burning with oh so familiar anger as they snapped up to Damien’s.

“ _Because_ ,” he began, stressing the word, “that were a stranger like me.”

“Oh and what could it possibly be that would make you different from any other stranger walking up the pass?” Damien retorted acidly without thinking.

The anger vanished from the other’s eyes instantly, replaced by something much like understanding. The answer came instantly, without hesitance or reservation.

“Well, the same things maybe that make _you_ different from all of them?” A familiar quirk of lips, not quite a smile, accompanied the words and only then did Damien realize what had escaped his lips just a moment before. His eyes must have shown some of his shock for Gerald’s smile grew almost imperceptibly.

Damien stood still for a moment, the sheer possibility lurking behind Gerald’s words rendering him speechless. When he’d managed to process that – and was sure he’d processed it correctly, he felt his heart lighten, much of the weight being lifted by one simple sentence. If only…

“If one’s live is a story, what do you think the ending will be?” Gerald asked, honest curiosity to his tone, his smile fading into seriousness.

Damien’s breath caught in his throat and he somehow forgot how to exhale.

“You know, tragic endings are surely literary most valuable but I always preferred the happy ones,” the not-so-young man continued. The tone was light but the beautiful eyes were intent, as if searching for something.

“Did you?” Damien raised one skeptical eyebrow, releasing the breath he’d been holding, growing more accustomed to that strange/familiar conversation. And something in those black eyes softened visibly. If you knew what to look for, of course.

“Sickening, isn’t it?” That dry humor, again, so utterly familiar.

Still, there was a distance to go. Damien wondered if they could bridge it.

All mirth fleeing at that thought, he took a closer look at the other. New clothes, new weapons. The man certainly had money. “Unlike me, you seem to have a place to go to,” he said finally, grief back in full force. Nothing ever changed. No matter what had been said, Gerald was still leaving. He had been stupid to hope. Really, he should have known.

“Yes,” the young-looking, not-at-all-young man answered solemnly, stepping forward, his eyes never leaving Damien’s, burning with an emotion Damien for once had no problems deciphering. _Could it be true? Please, One God, oh please, let it be true…_

“And this is where I am right now.” Gerald took that last step, bringing them chest to chest, and placed his head onto Damien’s shoulder. Just that. No embraces, no kisses. Just this display of complete trust.

It _was_ true, and it was all that mattered, and Damien sighed happily and put his arms around the younger man’s waist. Only then he felt slender arms encircle him in return – no inhuman strength in the almost desperate touch, not anymore, and very familiar determination conveyed by the all too human act.

“Gerald,” he whispered in profound relief, relishing the sound of those familiar syllables. Sure now them being safe to voice.

Soft lashes fluttered briefly across his cheek as the other turned his head to look at him.

“Gerald Tarrant – no. Gerald da Silva – yes.”

Damien tightened his hold, bringing them even closer, not daring to speak because anything he might've wanted to say right now could prove disastrous. He would have to learn, very carefully, what could be said and how it had to be phrased. He looked at the other man and, imagining them both caught up in a discussion like that again, he couldn’t help smiling. Could be fun.

“It would be nice,” Gerald said, pressing a widening smile into Damien’s chest, “if you could let me draw a breath. That’s something living beings do, you know.”

At that, Damien laughed, and drew back a little. To his complete and utter surprise, the very next second his lips were captured in a passionate kiss.

“Uhm–” was all sound he managed to produce before all coherent thought fled him. He moved his lips in answer hungrily, fervently, turning tables on his other by sliding his tongue into Gerald’s mouth and making the man moan in sheer pleasure. When his need for oxygen became predominant after some measure of time very much akin to eternity, he finally let go.

Looking down at his lover, he found Gerald gazing back, beautiful black eyes full of soft wonder. “What are you looking at?” he asked, feeling rather confused and absurdly euphoric at once.

“My happy ending,” Gerald answered. And smiled softly, and kissed him again.

…Somewhere in the outskirts of Jaggonath, two people live.

The older one, a man with chestnut brown hair and hazel brown eyes works as a physician in a nearby hospital. He’s succeeded brilliantly at conventional medicine – perhaps due to his experience as a Healer but more likely due to his devotion. Being a Healer has always been part of his calling, and there’s no regret in his eyes when he passes by a church. He loves his job but sometimes, he will raise his head and think of a pair of eyes, black as night or maybe pale as silver, and as soon his shift’s over, he will head back home.

The younger one, with hair and eyes both black as True Night, is running the ‘Phoenix Labs’, a quite successful research institute. Currently, he’s working on a new –or rather recently re-discovered– method to harden metals enough for them to resist high pressure and extreme temperatures. Science has become far more reliable, now with the fae unWorkable, and there’s no regret in his eyes when he thinks of that. Sometimes, he too, will raise his head from his project and think of a warm smile and even warmer eyes, and he will put down his tools and also head home.

There’s no link between them except the one that love creates, and they feel no need for something else either. The bond they once have shared belongs to a darker time and has no place before the light of the day.

Sometimes –which is close to ‘rarely’ for they prefer to stay at home and spend most of the time together– they will walk down the streets together, and people will smile when they pass by. It’s obvious that for them, the world doesn’t exist but for each other. True love is a rarity these days.

Sometimes, usually when True Night falls, one of them will think of the past but each time, there are solid arms and hot lips of the other one to hold the memories in check. And vice versa. The past is part of who they are and therefore not to be forgotten but it doesn’t matter that much anymore. It’s their future that matters and they don’t need Divining to know they will face it together.

Somewhere in the outskirts of Jaggonath, two people live…

_FIN_


End file.
